A Fine, Fine Line
by PythonFan
Summary: Songfic set to There's a Fine, Fine Line, from the musical Avenue Q. Set before and during Impact Winter. Oneshot, Donna's POV.


_Author's Note/Disclaimer: Okay, so any of you familiar with musical theatre probably know that Avenue Q is not exactly a great love story. However, every time I hear this song, I think of _Impact Winter_. The plot bunny just kept eating at my brain until I gave in. Hope you enjoy._

_Josh and Donna belong to Sorkin, Wells, Warner Brothers, NBC, et al. "There's a Fine, Fine Line," from the musical Avenue Q, was written by Robert Lopez and Jeff Marx and originally performed by Stephanie D'Abruzzo. I write for fun, and as such, do not profit.  
_

Donna gnawed anxiously at the soft flesh of her inner cheeks, a dull pit settling in her stomach. Never in her life had she been so nervous. She, who had talked herself into a presidential campaign with nothing more than a quick wit and a broken heart, wrangled unruly national and international politicians, and spoke freely with the leader of the free world.

She gazed quiescently at the computer screen in front of her until the presidential seal—featured prominently on the desktop—began to blur and dance in front of her eyes.

Blinking hard, hoping to dissolve the worries that crowded her brain and the tension that grasped her abdomen, she rose suddenly, grabbed her mug and crossed the short distance to Mr. Coffee, god of caffeine and sharp thinking. As she poured the steamy brew (without her usual grace), she tried to reason her way out of her troubles.

She wasn't asking too much. It had been almost eight years. She had college friends who became doctors and lawyers and professors in that amount of time. Was it so bad that she wanted to move up in the world?

_ No_, every rational bone in her body told her. _After eight years, the least you deserve is a promotion, a change of scenery, a place out from under the shadow of Josh Lyman_.

And therein lay the problem.

If it was anyone else, C.J., Sam, or Will, or even Leo or the president or, god forbid, Toby, she could articulate her argument coolly and calmly. Anyone could see how hard she worked, the skills she had developed over nearly a decade, the long hours she didn't have to put in but did. They had all acknowledged it at one time or another, given her trouble for her seemingly slavish devotion to her boss.

Except, of course, said boss himself.

Damn. That worry again.

She had known Josh for years now, and had long ago given up thinking of their relationship as simply a matter of boss and assistant. Though she couldn't put her finger on precisely _when_, she had come to realize that she had considered Josh her best friend for some time. Perhaps that's why she continued on—happily, even—without any words of thanks or encouragement. It had been so long since she'd really thought of Josh in a "boss" capacity that, now, were he to waltz in and offer her the promotion and the raise and the corner office, the whole kit and caboodle, it would only seem alien. Best friends didn't promote one another. Best friends talked about nothing and everything, saved one another from trouble, clasped hands and whispered encouragements before being rolled into the operating room…

_ Stop that_, she scolded herself. She didn't deny that there had been a time, long ago, when she'd developed something of a schoolgirl crush on the man she thought of as her rescuer and protector. But that knight-in-shining-armor illusion had faded just as quickly, long before Josiah Bartlet was first sworn in. Through the years, though, the dewy-eyed gazes of an impressionable young woman had given way to a deep and abiding respect for Josh Lyman, an impossibly neurotic, arrogant, tortured workaholic, and the kindest man she'd ever known.

And if she closed her eyes and thought about it hard enough, she could think back to that night in the Landstuhl hospital, on the brink of medically-induced unconsciousness. Through the shadowy memories of pain and fear, his face swam above her, creased by alarm and panic…and perhaps something else.

But thoughts of that were neither here nor there. No matter how badly she had muddied the waters, her personal life was her personal life and her professional life was her professional life. And the latter was what mattered at the moment.

Did she deserve it, really? She had traveled as far as a college dropout might hope to go. In less than ten years, the young woman with no education, no money, and no man now worked roughly fifty paces from the Oval Office. Most of her colleagues had significantly more years of dedication and at least one master's degree behind them. Had all these years in the halls of power bloated her ego beyond reason, leaving her vulnerable to the caprices of a dreamy child?

The more she thought about it, the more absurd it seemed. Here she was, a woman who had come from nothing, on a first-name basis with some of the most powerful men in the country. And she wanted more? She had to restrain herself from giggling out loud at the thought. Just as she began to banish the topic from her mind once and for all, when once of those stupid, inane pieces of trivia rose up like a specter.

Nine Presidents didn't earn a college degree.

Damn. But there they were. George Washington, Andrew Jackson, Martin Van Buren, Zachary Taylor, Millard Fillmore, Abraham Lincoln, Andrew Johnson, Grover Cleveland, and Harry Truman. Okay, some of them weren't exactly enshrined in the Presidential Hall of Fame, but Washington, Jackson, Lincoln, and Truman couldn't be dismissed out of hand, either.

Nine men without college educations had attained the highest office in the land. Nine men hadn't let their humble beginnings stop them from rising to greatness. Nine men had left their bosses and, in doing so, became _the _boss.

And if Millard Fillmore could do it, damn it, so could she.

_There's a fine, fine line between a lover and a friend;  
There's a fine, fine line between reality and pretend;  
And you never know 'til you reach the top if it was worth the uphill climb._

_There's a fine, fine line between love  
And a waste of time._

Two weeks and six cancelled lunches later, Donna had to fight down pangs of irritation. Surely it was nothing more than a hectic schedule, what with Vinick and flag burning and the China trip. And, if nothing else, it had given her time to test the job waters. She was more than a little surprised to find that she had more than a few nibbles. One, in particular—from Will—was less a nibble than a full-fledged job offer, but she'd put the brakes on pursuing it until she could have a real conversation with Josh.

That morning had gotten understandably sidetracked with word of President Bartlet's MS attack. But now, things finally seemed to be under control, and the threat of the moment appeared to be a meteor that wasn't going to hit Earth. The day was winding down. Things were as calm as they were going to get. All she had to do was corner Josh and ask him to talk. He might be frazzled, but he'd hear her tone and see her expression, and he'd listen. Just like always.

She fixed a stern expression on her face and strode into his office.

"Can we do this now?"

"What?"

"The conversation that was supposed to happen over lunch, but that ship sailed, so let's just have it now."

"Can't. World ending."

"I thought it wasn't hitting."

"Might."

"I thought there was nothing you could do."

"There isn't. Doesn't mean the situation's not to be monitored closely. Tomorrow. Lunch. Definitely."

And without so much as a second glance, he moved smoothly past her into the hallway.

_There's a fine, fine line between a fairy tale and a lie;  
And there's a fine, fine line between "You're wonderful" and "Goodbye."  
I guess if someone doesn't love you back it isn't such a crime,  
But there's a fine, fine line between love  
And a waste of your time._

She stood, chilled to the bone by the breeze left in his wake, replaying the so-called "conversation" in her head. The meteor wasn't important enough to merit that sort of attention. She knew that. He knew that. With no political menace in sight, only two possibilities remained: first, that he knew something was amiss and was purposely trying to avoid her; second, that he was clueless to the situation and avoiding her just came naturally.

She neither knew nor cared which was the case, because both made her sick. Either he was deliberately trying to sabotage her career for his own reasons, or somewhere along the way, she had slipped back into 'secretary' mode, and she was nothing more than a warm body to order about.

Gaza was only six months ago. What had happened to the man who had flown to Germany, spent days fluttering over her hospital bed, trying to make her smile through the earliest, most painful weeks of her recovery? Hell, what had happened to the man who trusted and respected her enough to send her in the first place? She knew he had been shaken by Leo's heart attack and C.J.'s promotion, but those things were simply part of the revolving door, "you win some, you lose some," nature of politics. Josh had to know that better than anyone. Just half a year ago, she had never believed more strongly that there might be something more than a precious friendship between them.

She recalled the way he barely glanced at her, miles away from the face that haunted her in the minutes before her surgery and for months afterward. A gaze intermingled with equal parts desperation and terror had been replaced by a glance that was cool and casual and utterly without regard. A look so oblivious that it shattered any hopes she had of ever seeing him look at her with passion or warmth ever again.

Possibly most horrifying of all was the fact that such hopes existed, and were rising from her subconscious with alarming speed. If things hadn't been clear five minutes ago, they had certainly crystallized since. Fighting down the panic, she glanced down the corridor to ascertain that Josh was far from sight or earshot, then slowly, shakily, made her way back to her desk.

_And I don't have the time to waste on you anymore.  
I don't think that you even know what you're looking for.  
For my own sanity, I've got to close the door  
And walk away...  
Oh..._

_There's a fine, fine line between together and not  
And there's a fine, fine line between what you wanted and what you got.  
You gotta go after the things you want while you're still in your prime..._

Picking up the phone and dialing the extension was an easier task than she expected.

"Hi, Will? It's Donna."

_There's a fine, fine line between love  
And a waste of time._


End file.
